


Things You Didn't Say

by Thyme_Basalt



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hiding in Dumpsters, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Metro Riding, Play Wrestling, Police Chase, Public Groping, Taxes, junkertown - Freeform, mild exhibitionism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 21:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13510224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thyme_Basalt/pseuds/Thyme_Basalt
Summary: My collection of Tumblr drabbles, ranging from Gen to NSFW. I'll keep the tags updated and put specific tags in the chapter descriptions. Fluff to smut and everything in between.





	1. Things you said with too many miles between us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SFW, police chase, dumpster rat

_Roadie: Where are you_

The text spreads across Junkrat’s tablet. He’s relieved he hadn’t dropped it in the frenzied escape after some brat pointed at them, shouting “Look, mum, it’s the scary men from TV!” and had the entire city’s law enforcement on their asses in about 45 seconds.

quite literally in a dumpster, he types back with a chuckle. His fingers have new layers of filth to smudge the screen. It’s not the most foul-smelling trash he’s ever been covered in. Only a few bags have broken open and they’re mostly comforting smells like old spaghetti and motor oil.

_Roadie: Cops gone?_

Rat pokes his head out, scanning the back alleyways. Red and blue lights have disappeared, but their sirens a whir on not too far away. It’s impossible to tell if they’re for him.

 _dont know._ Rat sends back before adding, though im willin to fite anyone to protect my new kingdom

_Roadie: your where you belong_

Rat sticks his tongue out at the tablet, not caring that Roadhog can’t actually see him. He feels his eyes drooping as his adrenaline wears off and the comforting warmth of the trash envelopes him (it’s not so bad after the smell and taste lose their power).

 _Roadie: im at the safehouse._ Hog’s message lights up the screen. _should i come get you, boss?_

The last message jolts something down in his stomach, and it’s not just because he loves being called “boss.”

_dont want me hoggy gettin himself blown up trying to find his dipshit boss hidin in a shithole_

_Roadie: i’ll do it you know_

The message comes without hesitation. Rat knows it’s true.

_nah m8 dont lose sleep on me. i’ll stay put and find ya in a few hours. promise_

_Roadie: ok_

For a moment, Rat thinks that will be the end of their conversation, Hog content to have a quiet evening to himself, the farthest away they’ve been from each other in… Rat can’t even remember how long. But one more message pops up.

_Roadie: i’ll have coffee ready for you_

“Aww,” Rat says aloud, hugging the tablet to his chest. “He really does care-”

_Roadie: decaf though, because your an idiot_

“Eh,” Rat shrugs as he sends back a string of angry faces and explosion symbols. “Still counts.”

Rat darkens the screen and nestles in for the night, arms and legs wrapped around a particular warm and round bag of garbage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr and feel free to drop me a drabble request! I'll be uploading there first. [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	2. Things You Said at the Kitchen Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW, Junkertown tax-doing fluff

Junkrat slams his hand down on the round kitchen table, jostling the half empty coffee pot dangerously. Roadhog blinks behind his mask, glancing down at a crumpled piece of paper in his mechanical clutches

“Get this, Hoggy! The Queen is askin’ us to file bloody income taxes?? Our business is the very definition of off the bloody books! I designed it this way! All part of the fuckin plan!”

Hog plucks the sheet out of his hand and flattens it beside his mug of coffee.

“Estimated income, $2.5 million. Wonder how they got that number.”

“That’s not the real kicker-” Rat’s finger slams down on the top of the page where it lists ‘ _Mako Rutledge_.’ Beside it, head of household, dependents: _Jamison Fawkes_.

Hog makes eye contact with the furious orange eyes as he lets out a slow booming laugh. Its effect on his “dependent” is instantaneous, and Rat joins his partner with his own manic giggle as he crosses it out and changes his filing status to _married._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr and feel free to drop me a drabble request! I'll be uploading there first. [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	3. Thing You Said When You Were Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW, Junkertown barn, Hog PTSD Flashbacks, Hurt/comfort

An inferno chasing him through vast swaths of open land. A home that’s his, but not, consumed, burning, melting before his eyes. He wants to stop running, stop and stand in the way, but he doesn’t. He’s too afraid, he’s always been too afraid. He’ll never change. Roadie, Roadie-

“Roadhog!”

Hog sits up straight in bed. His breathing apparatus is beeping loud enough to alert the local authorities all the way from Junkertown proper. Someone’s behind him, the person who shouted his name. He can barely remember who it is over the thrumming of his heart, his chest heaving up and down. Deft fingers click against the machine and comforting Hogdrogen floods the tubes attached to his mask. The tingle floods his body until the high settles in his chest.

One hand uncertainly makes its from the machine over to his mask, feeling and tightening the valves, making sure he’s secure, the other pressing against his chest.

It’s Junkrat- his charge he picked up after a bizarre encounter at Wolf’s Woods, some odd weeks ago. Hog isn’t used to his presence in his life, isn’t used to sharing a space or a life with anyone, let alone a yappy, trigger-brained lunatic. But something about the way he’s staring looks more lucid than he ever has, like in a panic, his fuzzy brain wills together enough power to act with purpose.

“Heard yer machine beepin’ from next door,” Rat says, pulling back his hands once he realizes he’s practically leaning on his tits. “Wanted to make sure yer okay.”

Hog says nothing, closing his eyes as his breathing slows to a steady rhythm. Junkrat’s eyes dart to the side as he sits uncomfortably beside him on the bed.

“I could rig up yer machine a little better?” He offers, picking at the loose seams on the comforter. “Maybe puttin’ an auto-trigger on the Hogdrogen when yer heart rate goes up? Or make it dump cold water on yer head?” Rat laughs nervously when Hog gives no reaction. “Sorry, mate, I’m a tinkerer and I like to fix my problems, and since we’ve teamed up, I consider Hog problems to be Rat’s problems.”

Hog can still hear the sound of the inferno, like it lives in his ears permanently, never willing to let him rest. But something about this man’s voice, as grating as it may be, brings him back down to earth, grounding him.

“Well…” Rat scratches at the back of his head. “Guess I’ll head back to the ole Rat den… next door… you’ll be fine without me I’m sure. Ya’ve never been one for sparkling conversation.”

As he hops to his feet, Roadhog closes a hand around his bicep. The action shorts Junkrat out, his mouth opening and closing as he tries process if Roadhog is about to rip his arm off.

“Stay.”

“Y-ya want me to stay?” Junkrat says, his voice wavering. “Thought I was annoyin’ ya like I always do.”

“You are.” He takes a deep breath in. “But I need to be annoyed right now.”

“’Course, mate! Ya don’t need ta ask twice!”

As if this was an open invitation for a slumber party, Junkrat swings his legs back onto the bed so he’s lying between Hog and the wall. There’s space between them, but not much, and Hog can feel the warmth from the slim body beside him. Oh and he’s rolling out a sheet of paper from god-knows-where labeled “New Anti-Fascist Graffiti Locations.”

“Perfect timing, mate, I was just up and workin’ on a new plan- well, not that ya should ever have a nightmare-induced panic attack to suit my whimsy, but I thought ya might want to have some input-”

Rat’s not actually looking for input and Hog’s not actually going to give any as he’s lulled back to sleep by Rat’s descriptions of his inspired acts of anarchistic genius. Somehow that’s exactly what they both need.


	4. Give Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SFW, play wrestling, rough boys

Hog slams Rat to the dusty floor of their hideout, pinning his arms beside his head for the third time that morning. The smaller man squirms, biting his lip in his struggle, back arching off the ground and feet trying to find purchase.

“Give. Up.” Hog’s snarl is muffled by his mask, fingers tensing against Rat’s twisting wrists. He gives him one last squeeze for dominance before releasing him.

“Tha’s my secret,” Rat giggles and bounds to his feet, rubbing the red marks on his arms. “If ya never give up, yer never a loser!”

Hog snorts at him and turns back to his workbench, resuming his work. _Whoever taught you that did not want you to succeed in life._

Rat is still standing behind him; Hog can hear from his ragged panting. He’s fiddling with something- there’s a soft metal clinking and quiet swears. Hog resists looking back at him for a good two minutes. Attention is all he wants, don’t give it to him. Finally after a loud “FUCK”, Hog unwillingly turns towards him.

Rat grasps his metal hand, trying to pop a support piece back in place. The metal is bent, mirroring Hog’s fingermarks left on his flesh wrist. A pit of guilt rises up in Hog’s stomach as he takes Rat’s hand in his, surveying the damage.

 _I didn’t mean to hurt you_ , he wants to say but all that comes out is a concerned grunt.

“I can do it, ya big brute,” Rat smacks him on the hand but Hog doesn’t let go, his big fingers pushing the metal back into place. He presses his thumb into the palm of Rat’s hand, urging him to close his fingers around it to make sure the connections still work.

“Just like new,” Rat says with a warm smile, closing his fingers around Hog’s thumb. “No harm done!”

Hog holds onto the metal fingers for half a second longer than he should have. It reveals a rare moment of weakness, hesitation, the desire to comfort. Rat capitalizes on it, breaking the tender moment as he lunges and wraps his arms around Hog’s head, dragging him to the ground. The sudden change takes Hog off-guard and he topples over. Rat drops down on top of his chest, grabbing Hog’s wrists and pushing them behind his head.

“Looks like I gotcha, didn’t I?” Rat says, his voice dipping low. “Jus’ like how I said I would.” He narrows his eyes in confusion, looking past Hog. “Wait, what did I say? Do ya remember?”

“Never give up,” Hog reminds him as he lets his huge wrists be pinned against the ground by a man 1/5th his size.

“Roight!” Rat says, releasing him. “Never give up and know yer enemy.”

 _You sure do._ Hog huffs and pushes his triumphant partner onto his ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr and feel free to drop me a drabble request! I'll be uploading there first. [Thyme-Basalt](https://thyme-basalt.tumblr.com/)


	5. Mind the Gap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NSFW, Public groping, Mild Exhibitionism

Junkrat doesn’t just sit on the metro. He lounges, practically luxuriating in the dingy metal box on rails like he’s its king. His long legs are spread wide from the middle of a row of seating, his feet (well, foot and peg) planted in the middle of the walkway. He drapes his arms across the back of the seats, and his wolfish grin dares any tired commuters to snuggle up against him if they want to rest their weary feet.

Roadhog looms over his companion, hands bracing the overhead bar in a death grip, his mask pointing down at him. Passengers nearby do their best not to make eye contact with the pair, but it’s nearly impossible not to gawk. Any stray glances in their direction are caught by Junkrat with a wink and a finger gun.

An ominous Omnic voice rings out “mind the gap” and the doors fling open. It looks like Geriatric-Con 2076 has just let out as a long string of senior citizens board and move as far to the other side of the car as possible. The slowest among them are unable to find space and stand awkwardly in the doorway.

“Get up,” Hog snarls at Rat through gritted teeth.

“No can do, mate,” Rat says sneering up at him. His metal arm goes rigid as it points and taps a sign above him. Hog narrows his eyes at it.

_Priority seating given to expectant mothers (a little cartoon pregnant woman), the elderly (a hunched over cartoon figure) and the handicap (a cartoon person in a wheelchair)._

“I don’t see priority given to twitchy shitstains.” Hog extends his hand to pull him up.

“Excuse me,” Rat retorts, booting his companion in the knee with his peg. “I’m the genuine article right here. Double handicapped. Betcha half these cunts have never seen a two-fer.”

Hog huffs at him, patience wearing thin as Rat refuses to move.

“You can stand.”

“You know who doesn’t get priority seating?” Rat asks, still not moving. He leans forward, cupping his mouth in a fake whisper. “Oversized, overstuffed, mute, dumb pigfaces.”

Rat is suddenly lifted from his seat by the hood of his jacket. His screech puts everyone around them on high alert as they try to determine if an altercation is about to break out between two of the largest men they’ve seen.

But instead of blows, Rat goes limp in the air and allows himself to be lowered to the ground in front of Hog. He maintains his jelly-boned state as he leans his body weight against the bigger man, chin digging into Hog’s chest.

“Stop,” Hog says, trying to stand the man up straight. Rat refuses to use his legs, drooping back against him every time.

“Ya wanted to make room for the old fuckers, right? I’m just givin’ ‘em lotsa space.”

Hog sighs and lets Rat lean against him and hold onto Hog’s belt to keep upright with each lurching stop.

As the metro rattles on into rush hour, the people boarding begin to look less like people and more like a writhing mass of flesh determined remove all illusions of personal space. Hog closes his eyes. If he can’t see them, they’re not there, closing around him.

A sudden warmth presses against his crotch. Hog opens an eye and sees Junkrat grinning all snaggletoothed and cocky up at him.

“Ya like that?” He is actually trying to be quiet, but it’s not working as people all around them cast uneasy glances in the direction of the unconformably loud and lustful voice.

“You’re the one they warn about on those signs.”

“What signs?” Rat’s hand is soft as it squeezes and rubs him.

Hog grunts up to another sign: _Respect the Ride: Report all suspicious and inappropriate behavior._

This delights Rat even more and his hand massages harder as the bodies push them closer.

Hog stares down at Rat, blocking out everything but the steady pressure on his cock and the grinning face that’s been implanted in his brain. His ears burn and he knows Rat can tell it’s getting to him by the way he works his fingers and grinds his palm against him. They’re standing incredibly close now- Hog’s hands holding onto the bar while Rat leans between his arms, caressing him like he owns the bigger man.

“Piccadilly Circus. Please mind the gap.” the Omnic chirps and Rat leaps back, practically falling on the lap of a 90 year old woman.

“Our stop, Hoggy!” He yells like everyone should know, waving his hand for his companion to follow.

Roadhog takes pleasure in obviously adjusting himself, tucking his cock more comfortably and heaving his pants up beneath his gut before he follows after Junkrat. He trips slightly on his way out the door, his legs shakier than he anticipated.

“Watcha there, Hogs!” Rat says, holding a hand out to steady him. “If only they gave ya some kind of warnin’.”

Hog thinks about giving Rat a swat upside the head, but instead rests his hand on the small of his back and pushes him off into the busy station.


End file.
